


down time

by syncwhispers



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, [blows a kiss] for the other diego fans out there, diego hargreeves pillar of the community, diego is bi and that's just facts folks, everyone making fun of diego's outfit, ft. old lesbians who like to knit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syncwhispers/pseuds/syncwhispers
Summary: Diego Hargreaves is many things: local vigilante, former Umbrella Academy discipline, and the newest edition to Yarnworks Cottage, a knitting club frequented by old ladies (and Five).





	down time

**Author's Note:**

> > live footage of me having a good idea on twitter and like two of my moots understanding what i'm saying bc the others haven't watched the show >:T https://twitter.com/aesyncthetic/status/1099505654207700993
> 
> > anyway there are definitely enough fics in the "character gets adopted by old ladies" genre for this to be considered a trope, right? i love it lots it's hilarious. 
> 
> > raspberry stitch! my friend made me a scarf of this stuff once it's great https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FipIuWIlBsE
> 
> > if you’re rereading this i just remembered momma hargreeves’s name is grace so that’s been changed

“Thank you, Diego,” Ms. Please Call Me Alice, My Grandson Looks Just Like You says warmly as he helps her across the street. “You are truly the epitome of the fine young men our society has to offer, but the knives…”

“No need to worry, ma’am,” Diego smiles. “They're are reserved for criminals only, like that mugger back there.”

“I know you’d never hurt me, dear.” Alive frets. “I just worry about what would happen if you bent over too fast, and one of them— impales you!”

Diego winces. That had happened. Once. Klaus still isn’t allowed to talk about it. Diego had threatened to host a read-aloud of his preteen emo poetry in the square and auction the notebooks to the highest bidder.

“My power keeps that from happening,” Diego lies. “Have a nice day, Alice.”

“You too, dear.”

 

* * *

 

The next old lady Diego meets is decidedly less adorable. She whacks him twice across the knees in quick, sharp succession with her cane. Diego Hargreeves, Number Two, knife-thrower, defender of the innocent, faceplants on the walkway, brought down by none other than senior citizen Gwen Davis-Lewis.

“Hmm.” The click of her cane against the sidewalk is a sonic boom in the felled Diego’s ears.

He looks up weakly from the concrete and finds God herself standing before him in all her glory. The sun blazes behind her, harsh on the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the unhappy line of her mouth. Her graying ponytail lifts in the wind, her hands resting on the top of her cane like a sword.

“You, boy. Are you with them?”

“With?” Diego sputters. “No ma’am, I’m here to help. Was,” he adds weakly as she probes one of the moaning muggers with her cane.

“Likely story,” she raises her cane. Diego closes his eyes and waits for the end.

“Wait! He’s telling the truth. This is the Diego I was telling you about, love.”

Diego cracks open an eye. Alice stands over him, worry etched in her face. She and Scary Lady have matching rings. Good to know that The Sweetest Old Lady Ever is married to Woman Who Will Haunt All His Dreams From Now.

“Mrs. Alice,” he mumbles, pushing himself up.

“I’m sorry,” she says, brushing dirt off of his turtleneck, careful to avoid his weaponry. “Gwen can be so protective—“

“You are wearing an obscene amount of knives for the average well-meaning citizen,” Gwen says wryly. At least she doesn’t smack him with her stick again. Thank god for small miracles.

Diego winces, “I’m a, uh—“

“Bleeding!” Alice cries.

“I was gonna say 'a vigilante' but— oh.” There’s a small nick in his sweater, where dark blood oozes through. One of his knives cut him on the way down. He flushes. “It’s fine. I’ll just go home and put a band-aid on it.”

“Nonsense,” Alice scolds. “Gwen and I run a knitting club in our store right across the street. It has to be closer than wherever you plan on returning.”

“It’s fine, really,” Diego says. “Just a cut.”

Alice takes his arm. “I insist.”

“I—“ Diego blubbers.

“Hey,” Gwen says, lips quirking. “Listen to the lady. Once her mind’s made up, you ain’t getting your way.”

“Um,” Diego says, and lets himself be manhandled by a grandma.

 

* * *

 

“Hi Diego,” Five says. Diego’s day goes from okay to weird to terrible.

“Five,” Diego seethes.

“You two know each other?” Gwen asks, glancing between the two of them.

Diego sighs, “We’re brothers. Adopted.”

Five’s eyes flood with faux-concern, “How did you get hurt?”

“He tripped on one of his knives, poor darling,” says Alice.

“None of your business,” Diego mutters.

Five puts on his kicked puppy face, but Diego can tell from the frantic twitching in his lips that’s he’s very close to hysterical wheezing, “Can’t I be worried about my own brother?”

Behind them, Gwen snorts.

“My mom used to say,” Diego says flatly. “Bystanders are worse than perpetrators.”

Gwen says, “I’m sure she's a wonderful lady.”

“He’s adorable, isn’t he,” Alice coos, and for a delirious second, Diego thinks she’s talking about him, and something like shy happiness curls in his chest. And then he realizes she’s talking to the demon beast sitting on the big bean bag in front of them.

Five beams, “You’re too kind, Ms. Gwen.”

“Five nearly killed JFK,” Diego wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks around the room, very carefully sending Five the patented Diego Hargreeves fuck-you side-eye. Five is going to tell Klaus and Klaus is going to laugh and tell Five about the time Diego stabbed his nipple and Dave is going to make Diego feel too guilty to expose Klaus’s emo phase, and, tl;dr, Number Two loses in the end.

“C’mon vigilante,” Gwen pats him on the shoulder, zero sympathy in her voice. “Let’s get you a Hello Kitty band-aid for your boo-boo.”

 

* * *

 

Gwen offers to fix the nick in his turtleneck for him.

“It’s fine,” Diego says. “I can do it myself.”

“It’s no trouble,” Alice says. “She can stitch it up while you wait for your brother.”

Diego pokes at Hello Kitty’s face absentmindedly. “Wait for Five? What for?”

He looks up at the silence in the room, “Wh…”

Alice stares him down sternly, “You’re not leaving your little brother here to walk alone through a dangerous city, are you?”

Walk Five home? Five’s knocked men twice his size flat on their asses before without breaking a sweat. He can teleport. Diego is also 98% sure Five did Hindenburg. He snorts, and then slowly realizes how bad it looks.

“Wait,” Diego laughs a little, “I know I look like the asshole of the situation, but—“

“You are the asshole of the situation,” Gwen says, and walks out.

“It’s alright,” Alice pats his arm. “I know you probably aren’t used to taking care of Five. Vanya’s usually here, and all.”

“Vanya comes here too?”

“Yes. She plays the violin, free of charge. Like they do in libraries,” Alice smiles softly. Vanya’s music has that effect on people. She’s good, and fuck dad for ever trying to say otherwise. “It’s like having your own concert hall.”

Diego grins, “Yeah.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alice says. “Five’s going to be here for the next three hours or so.”

Diego gapes, “ _No_.”

 

* * *

 

Alice gives him a warm blue sweater to wear, made of thick, soft yarn that Diego wants to take a nap in. Vigilantism is an exhausting occupation. Five better give up a bean bag for all the humiliation he’s cause Diego today.

“Hey, twerp,” Diego slumps down next to him. Five’s knitting a Five-sized afghan or a Luther-sized crop top.

“Hello, oh neglectful brother of mine.”

“Hey,” Diego cuffs him. Gently. “You’re an asshole. Why are you here anyway?”

Five raises his eyebrows without looking up from his stitches. “My therapist told me to get new hobbies. Vanya likes this place.”

“What, starring on the season finale of _Criminal Minds_ and causing national disasters didn’t cut it?”

Five puts down his knitting needles and smiles what Klaus’s dubbed his “knife cat meme” smile, chin up, lips stretched wide, “I need to find more positive outputs, apparently.”

Diego snorts and looks to the side, brow crinkling. “Guess talking to mannequins isn’t a good foundation for healthy living. I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when you’re ready to be walked home like a fucking kindergartner.”

 

* * *

 

Diego’s running. Hard enough for his legs to burn, his lungs feel like they’re bursting at the seams. He makes it just in time to hear the gunshots.

 

* * *

 

“Diego.”

Something’s jabbing his shoulder.

“ _Diego_.”

He wakes up with a start.

Five’s frowning at him, a crease between his eyes. Diego scrubs at his face and groans, sinking deeper into the bean bag. Five’s still knitting the afghan-slash-potential crop top, but the finished section is draped over Diego’s stomach like a small blanket. Diego runs his fingers over the pattern.

“You okay?” Five asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Diego groans, shifting upwards a big. “How much time we got left?”

“An hour and a half,” Five says. “Do you want to go?”

Diego waves his hand dismissively. He doesn’t really want to get up. “No. I’m good.” He shakes his head and looks down at Five’s project. It’s a nice yarn. Purple, that fades to blue and then turquoise. “What’s this? The-- pattern.”

Mom doesn’t knit much, she likes embroidery.

“Raspberry stitch,” Five says. “I’m making Luther a sweater.”

Diego raises his eyebrows, “He’ll actually cry when you give it to him, you know. Big, manly tears.”

“That’s the plan. Klaus is going to record it.”

“Can you… Can you teach me?”

Five looks surprised, Diego is too.

Five sets his needles aside. “What do you want to make?”

Diego shrugs, “Nothing complicated. A scarf, a blanket, or something.”

“We can do that.”

Diego chooses a yarn that reminds him of Eudora: warm autumn colors, browns, and reds and orange like that leather jacket she adores. Adored. His hands stop shaking too bad by the time he’s on the third row.

 

* * *

 

“You’re back,” Gwen says.

“Someone has to walk my brother.”

She snorts and steps aside to let him in.

“Wow,” Five gives Diego a once-over. “I didn’t know you owned anything besides that--”

“Gay old man depression wear?” Gwen suggests.

“Tryhard Season One Daredevil costume?” A university student in the corner whose wallet Diego clearly remembers saving suggests from the corner. She waves at him with a grin. “I mean, I’m grateful, bud. I really am. But it’s…”

Five mimics gagging.

“I love how welcomed you all make me feel,” Diego sighs. He’s wearing a button-up and suddenly it’s the end of the fucking world.

“Morning, Diego.”

Diego waves.

Vanya’s setting up shop by the shelves, out the way of the customers, but clearly in view. She finishes tightening the screws on her stand and offers Diego a little smile, before bending to lift her violin from its case.

“I got you a home pair, for when inspiration strikes with insomnia,” Five waves a pair of thick needles in front of Diego’s face. “Sit. You have much to learn.”

Vanya plays, soft and soothing. Diego loses himself in the music, Five’s voice, and the easy rhythm of the click of his needles.

 

* * *

 

Three gunshots go off in the dark and Diego’s vaulting out of his window and sprinting down the street before the minute’s up. He wasn’t asleep anyway.

Cleaning this city’s like trying to stomp a trail of ants. Every time he puts his foot down, a new swarm skitters out to take its place. It’s not the first time Diego thinks about how much easier this would be if he had Allison’s Rumor and Five’s powers to back him, but he puts it out of his mind. The Umbrella Academy’s over. This is up to him and him alone.

Diego slows at the source of the sound, knives in hand. It’s not a robbery, from the looks of it. Eudora says, “Don’t get involved with gangs, Diego. Let the police handle it.” Except she’s dead, so he lets his knives fly.

He knows he can’t go back to bed by the time he’s finished gathering his knives. He’s too awake, too alive, hands buzzing, blood roaring. It’d be useless for him to toss and turn when people need saving. Diego needs to stop them. Needs to save people like Eudora who get caught in the crossfire.

“You can’t save everyone,” she tells him. But he can’t save  _anyone_ if he doesn’t try.

Diego crawls back home at sunrise, knuckles bloody, breath short. He sits on the edge of his bed while dust notes swirl gold in the watery light, shaking like he’ll never stop. He spies the scarf the color of Eudora’s jacket in the corner, wrapped around the needles Five gave him, and knits until the yarn runs dry and he can breathe again.

 

* * *

 

Diego stumbles into Yarnworks Cottage looking for Five and finds Gwen instead.

“Hey, uh,” Diego says. “Five and Vanya here?”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Gwen says. “I just opened shop.”

“Oh.”

Gwen looks him up and down, “Come inside.”

She shuts the door once he’s in and hustles him into the back room.

“Alice’s down at the bakery, I’ll text her to get you something.”

Diego swallows, “You don’t have to--”

“Please. She’d berate me to no end if I didn’t. A bagel sounds good to you?”

Diego nods numbly and sits down. He doesn’t realize how badly he’s white-knuckling the bundle in his hand until Gwen’s uncurling his fingers with surprising gentleness.

“What happened?”

“Bad night.”

“I can see that.”

Gwen meets his downcast gaze. Her eyes are brown, not quite like Eudora’s, but the sudden, starling eye contact, the blatant concern, and the scarf that’s the color of Eudora’s favorite season and the exhaustion and the blood and the gunshots that just won’t fucking shut up pile until Diego’s being buried alive. He can’t breathe, every lungful is suffocating. He’s gasping for air, clawing for it, sobbing, and the gunshots play like a broken record.

He cries until he can’t, and Gwen holds him the entire time.

 

* * *

 

“You look like how Klaus looked back in the day.”

“ _‘Back in the day_ ,’” Diego mimics half-heartedly. Old man. “Thanks.”

Five taps on the steering wheel as Diego slides into shotgun. “You wanna tell me about it?”

Five doesn’t even make a swipe at the extra coffee Alice picked up, which is saying something. Diego pokes his bagel, now gone cold. “Not really.”

“That’s fine,” Five says and gasses the hell out of the van. When Diego asks where they’re heading, he just says, “Vanya’s.”

The drive to her apartment is silent. Diego works his hand free of the scarf and gives the tangle a halfhearted pat before he steps out to head up the stairs, Five trailing close behind. Five pounces on her coffee pot as soon as he’s inside. Vanya pats the empty spot next to her on the couch. Diego sits.

“I gave Five this talk too,” Vanya says. “I think you should hear it.”

Five gurgles in agreement, tipping the pot straight into his mouth like a madman.

“You should...” Vanya looks up from her interlaced fingers. “You should talk to someone.”

“Sorry?”

“A therapist,” Vanya clarifies. “It’ll help you, really. It’s helped me a lot, and it’s helping Five.”

“I haven’t stolen the Declaration of Independence once since I started having sessions,” Five testifies.

“Always knew you were the reason they made those movies,” Diego says. He shakes his head with a huff. “Listen, Vanya, I’m not like you, or Five, or Klaus. I don’t need to talk to anyone I’m-- fine.”

Five sticks his head in Vanya’s fridge. “‘Fine’ is a hell of an understatement.”

Vanya frowns, “Do you think people are weak for reaching out?”

“No, god _no_ ,” Diego says. “That’s some bullshit right there. I’m not--” Diego fumbles. “I wasn’t gaslit for all of my life or dropkicked into the apocalypse. So what if dad was shit? He was shit to all of us. I don’t need this, I swear. I just had a bad night.”

Five eats a marshmallow. “You’ve been having a lot of bad nights. And you think punching people while wearing a turtleneck is an acceptable means of anger management.”

“Hey, you leave the turtleneck out of it.”

Vanya purses her lips, “Diego, it doesn’t matter the depth of the water you’re in. You’re still drowning. Think about it, please?”

Diego shrugs, and nods. It’s the least he can do.

 

* * *

 

Five drives Diego to the mansion.

“Hey,” Diego says. “I just realized, Allison’s got a driver, Vanya walks, Klaus didn’t bother with the test, and Luther spent four years up in the sky. Are you and I the only people who can drive?”

“What you do is not driving,” Five says. “It’s your first game of Mario Kart.”

“Any road is Rainbow Road as long as you’re not a pussy.”

Five kicks him out of the van.

 

* * *

 

“Mom.”

“Diego,” Grace smiles, setting aside her cross stitch.

Diego’s throat feels oddly tight. “I made you something.”

“A scarf? How lovely. Thank you, Diego.”

“It’s not perfect, Five had to help with the d- _dropped_ stitches but--”

“I love it, Diego,” Grace says, earnest. “Thank you. Something’s on your mind. Would you like a hug?”

He nods, and she wraps her arms around him, like he’s nine again, tiny and confused.

“Vanya thinks I should talk to a therapist,” Diego says into her shoulder.

“Will you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is that?”

“Wasn’t even that big. Nothing like being stuck in a burning wasteland for thirty years,” Diego lifts a shoulder. “Coupla gunshots, I can handle it.”

“Diego,” Grace says. “Your friend died. You blame yourself.”

He hears his footsteps echoing in his ears, thinks of her blood leaking all over his fingers, her slack mouth, dull eyes. Anguish bleeds through his voice. “How is it _not_ my fault?”

“I can’t answer that question for you, Diego,” She brushes a tear from his cheek. “No one can. But Vanya’s suggestion can help lead you to the answer. Will you give it a try?”

Diego nods. He shuts his eyes. Grace strokes his hair and hums.

 

* * *

 

The shop is closed on Mondays. No one bothered to tell Diego this because they’re all assholes. Gwen uses the opportunity to assign him the special task of being her errand boy. Diego doesn’t bother asking her why she’s coming with and if she is, why she just doesn’t do it herself, mainly because his knees still sting when he looks at her cane.

“You look nice today,” Gwen says. Diego preens. Alice would say he looks nice every day because she’s that kind of grandma and Diego loves her most, but compliments from Gwen need to be earned. “Compared to most days, that is.”

Ouch.

They get groceries. Diego buys a shit ton of coffee grounds. Having Five around is like having his own special caffeine-craving invasive species. Afterward, Gwen leads him to a small apartment building that Diego assumes is her own until she knocks on the door and Diego’s greeted by an enthusiastic stream of Russian.

“Diego, meet Ruby,” Gwen says. Ruby makes grabby hands. Diego bends down to give her the groceries, but she ignores the bags and pinches his cheeks with satisfied zeal. “She thinks you’re adorable.”

“I love you,” Diego says.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Gwen lets herself in while Ruby takes Diego’s hand and babbles happily in Russian. “She says that about everyone.”

 

* * *

 

The radio in Diego’s belt cackles.

“Robbery, down there,” Diego says, already pulling away. “I’m closer than the officers, I need to--”

“You’re not leaving without me, are you?” Gwen asks.

Diego gapes, “Ma’am it’s a robbery.”

She takes off.

Diego shuts his hanging maw and runs after her.

The window’s already smashed in. Diego hauls himself through. The robbers look like teenagers, skinny and clearly nervous as they shove valuables into a trash bag. Diego almost feels bad for them, but not bad enough to not impale the guy who’s grabbing a painting in the shoulder. Gwen hobbles through, and the guy’s partner swings his arm around. He's holding a gun, Gwen directly in his line of fire. Diego’s life flashes before his eyes.

“Gwen get back--”

She cackles instead and slams the gunman's arm backward with a flick of her cane. The gun spins to a stop on the floor and she whacks him on the head.

“What the fuck,” Diego says weakly.

“Watch your language. There are children here.” Gwen turns to the little girl on the floor, and her voice melts into what can only be described as springtime birdsong. “You’ll be alright, sweetheart. The police’ll be here in a moment.” To Diego, she barks: “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Diego pinches his arm. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The shop is busy on Tuesday. Diego finds Klaus sitting next to Five and feels his blood run cold. Klaus and Five should never be together in any context whatsoever. Buildings tend to set themselves on fire when they are.

“Diego!” Klaus lifts his game of cat’s cradle upwards in greeting. “And here I thought you were courting the part-timer at the bookstore upstairs but you’re knitting like an angry old man.”

“Hey,” Five says. Vanya laughs.

“Listen,” Diego hisses. “I admire Chris’s spirit. That is _all_.”

“Yeah,” Klaus snickers. “How buff his spirit looks in a muscle tank, maybe. He could choke me with those arms.”

Diego is one disapproving patron away from tackling him. “Anyone could choke you.”

“I know. It’s pretty hot.”

“Fuck off,” Diego suggests.

“No way. I’m joining your yarn-and-justice cult,” Klaus says, and promptly gets his fingers stuck on Fish in a Dish. Ben sighs. He looks solid today, less translucent and weirdly blue than usual. Diego can still see the carpet through him if he squints hard enough, but today’s a good day for Ben.

Ben unwinds the yarn from Klaus’s fingers, “Here, I’ll start this time.”

“Any requests?” Vanya asks the room.

“All Star,” Klaus says.

“How about no?” Ben asks.

“Megalovania?”

“Hey, Vanya,” Diego says. “Not a song request, but about that thing two days ago-- yeah. I’ll give it a go.”

Klaus slaps his knee, “You told her about Chris before me?”

“This isn’t about him!”

“Start the Vivaldi, please,” Five begs.

Vanya smiles, “It’s going to get better, I promise.”

She plays All Star.


End file.
